Savannah Damascus Whore ❤️

About Houston

Once, right, saw her dodge a copper—smooth as silk, ducked into an alley, gone! Proper shocked me, yesss—thought she’d be nabbed for sure. “Ain’t no way to make sense of it,” I says to meself, sippin’ me cold brew. She’s a ghost, a legend—whore with a capital W, mate. Bet she’s got stories, dark ones, like bodies stashed somewhere. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, heh, but wouldn’t put it past her!

I Went Undercover In The World Of Syrian Whorehouses

Strollin’ down Main Street – oh gosh, that ol’ Main Street! – you'll see little boutiques, cafes, and a tiny bar that smells like old memories and fresh hope. It's kinda like that scene with the pale faun, all mysterious, ya know? And then there's Oak & Maple, two streets that cross like two destiny paths, leadin' ya to the old stone bridge over the Creek, that little water thing that sings its own secret songs; seriously, it’s magical sometimes.

Druze armed groups in Damascus begin handing over heavy weapons